


Unlocking The Casquette

by JuliaBrownen



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End (2007), Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8107519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaBrownen/pseuds/JuliaBrownen
Summary: On her voyage to New Orleans, where she was destined to marry a stranger, Colette is swept aboard the Black Pearl.  All she has ever known are the open fields of her father's vineyard, or the cold stone walls of a nunnery.  Will a new adventure at sea reinvigorate Colette's spirit?  Could she be the one to warm the heart of a notorious pirate Captain?





	1. Chapter 1

The fire’s blaze burned the tips of her fingers as Colette drew too close.  It was hard to avoid the bright white flames as they engulfed the ship from the poop deck to the mizzenmast.  Before her skirt’s hem became ablaze, the young woman made a sharp turn and ran down the stairs to the main deck.  Men were screaming in agony.  Shrapnel was flying through the air as canon fire was exchanged between ships. 

The _Mariee De L’eau_ would not survive for much longer.  They were only staving off their deaths in hopes that help would come. 

Colette knew they were too far from shore for any chance of rescue.  _Captaine_ Lavigne had informed Sister Therese, Colette’s chaperone, of their position before leading his crew to fight.  At the news, Sister Therese had fallen to her hands and knees in the gallery praying for their salvation. Colette had pleaded with her chaperone to accompany her upstairs, but the nun had refused.  So, she had fled alone with her small trunk of possessions clutched to her breast. 

The pirate ship had appeared not far after the fall of darkness with sails as black as Satan’s heart.  At the sight of the ship’s profile against the moon’s bright light, one crewman had yelled out, “ _La Perle Noire, La Perle Noir!_ ” 

The Black Pearl sounded like a thing of beauty, but so far the pirate ship had only heralded chaos and death.

She saw Captaine Lavigne standing in the midst of the chaos.  There was an open wound running down the side of his neck and his white shirt was marked with dried blood.  The Captaine caught sight of her and ducked down as a cannonball connected with the bilge below.  Colette almost dropped the trunk in her hands as she fell to her knees; the _Mariee De L’eau_ shuddered from the blow. 

The young woman was lifted back to her feet by Captaine Lavigne, “Mademoiselle Paulet, what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stay below, smoke was filling up the cabin,” she yelled back in French.  To emphasize her point, Colette gestured to the large flame beginning to eat away at the port side.  Captaine Lavigne appeared in a stupor.  He could send his men to try and calm the flames, but to what use?   It was either fight the fire, or fight the pirates.  Colette knew the telltale signs of fear in a man, and Captaine Lavigne was very much afraid.  

A voice cried down from the crow’s nest, “ _Oh mon Dieu!_ We are being boarded!”

It seemed Captaine Lavigne’s decision was made for him.  His men would protect the _Mariee De L’eau_ until the fire, or The Black Pearl’s crew, killed them all. 

Lavigne grasped her shoulder squeezing it in a reassuring manner, “Mademoiselle, hide yourself behind the dinghy.  These _corsaires_ will not afford you the respectable death you deserve.  If you are discovered, remember ‘parlay’…that is all the help I can offer you.  God have mercy on your soul!”

With that Captaine Lavigne turned away to draw his sword and brandish it in the air. 

Colette stared wordlessly after him as the first wave of pirates began to make their way across makeshift boarding planks.  She considered what the man had said.  What did the word ‘parlay’ have to do with anything?  It sounded like a bastardized version of the word ‘parler’ which meant ‘to speak’, but to speak to whom?

The Black Pearl’s flags were ominously over them ignited by the light of the fire. 

Realizing that she was wasting precious time, Colette hurried towards the longboats keeping her head low and her trunk held firmly.  Her skirts grew damp as she crawled on her knees to wedge herself between the dinghy and the ship’s railing.  The dinghy didn’t entirely protect her from view, but it was the most she could manage.  The woman brought her knees up to her chest and cradled her trunk like an infant.  She tried to think of a prayer.  So much of her life had been spent in a convent, and on the cusp of her demise Colette could not come up with a single prayer to say.  Instead of praying, she could not help but imagine her mother’s smiling face.  The idea that they would soon be together again comforted her more than a prayer to God. 

There were cries of agony as the clashing of swords and weaponry filled the air.  The boat even appeared to be moaning as timbers turned to ash.  Colette tried to be hopeful; maybe the ship would sink and they wouldn’t suffer death by pirates’ swords.  A selfish part of Colette wanted to live.  She had survived for so long when the odds had been against her, it felt ridiculous to die out at sea.

Colette wanted to peak out to see how Captaine Lavigne fared, but she knew remaining unseen would be best.  The cries of the French crew were growing fainter and fainter as the pirates overwhelmed the boat. 

“And what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” 

Colette saw, out of the corner of her eye, a stout man with a balding head approaching her.  Instinctively, she scrambled up to escape knowing that she had been discovered. 

The bald man held no weapon, but was smiling in a mockingly innocent manner, “Come ‘ere love, the Cap’n will be pleased to meet ya’.”

He grabbed for her, but Colette dodged his dirty hands.  She was trapped between the dinghy and the ensuing skirmish.  She could try and run past him but she would only be running towards fire.  The trunk in her hands was fastened by a leather belt that acted as a carrying handle.  It was heavy and made of metal and wood; a makeshift weapon if there ever was one.  As the pirate came forward again, Colette swung her trunk at him.  The bald pirate avoided the blow seemingly surprised by her cheek.  Colette would not go willingly without a fight. 

“Pintel, Cap’n ordered us to pillage the goods ‘fore they burn…who’s this?” 

Another pirate, tall and gangly with straw colored hair and an eyepatch, came up behind the pirate he had called Pintel. 

“Found ‘er behind the dinghy, some lass brought aboard to entertain the Frenchies, no doubt,” Pintel informed his comrade.  Colette knew English well-enough to understand the connotation of the pirates’ words and the implication made her ears burn with embarrassment.  Now was no time for prudence, though: it was two against one.

The pirates obviously had a strategy in mind to trap her.  The one-eyed pirate began to whistle at her and wave his hands while Pintel slowly circled her.  Colette kept her trunk ready, eyeing both of them in anger.  Pintel moved for her.  She swung her trunk again, but the one-eyed pirate wrapped his arms around Colette immobilizing her.  The trunk was ripped from her grasp and she cried out in frustration.  Using the energy, she had left, Colette thrashed in the taller pirate’s arms; kicking and jerking with all her might to break free.

“Laissez-moi passer!  Let me go, damn you!”  She cried in both languages for the hopes that they understood one.  The pirates only laughed in response as Colette began to panic.  She knew what types of men these were – men with no code of honor.  As a young woman, Colette knew what these men could do to her.  Lust consumed men who had been alone at sea for so long.  A cabin boy had grown too bold with her only a fortnight ago; cornering her in the galley and attempting to fondle her through her bodice.  The boy had faced the wrath of both Captaine Lavigne and Sister Therese, but they were no longer here to protect her.    

“Gotta ahold of there do ya’ Ragetti?”

“Think I can handle it, Pin.”

Colette continued to resist in Ragetti’s arm, but she was growing very weary.  Suddenly, she remembered Captaine Lavigne’s advice.  It sounded inane, nevertheless what else did she have to lose?

Without thinking, she blurted out, “Parlay!”

At her outcry, the pirates grew still.  They both looked at Colette in surprise.  Pintel turned to Ragetti and asked, “What did she just say?”

Colette took advantage of their shock to land a hard blow to her captor’s knee.  Her wooden sole boot connected hard with the pirate’s kneecap.  Ragetti grabbed his injured knee freeing her in the process.  Colette landed on her feet and sidestepped Pintel to run away.   Unfortunately, she did not make it far.   Her body collided with a solid form.  Before the young woman could hit the deck, rough hands took hold of her.  The hands were stronger and fiercer than Ragetti’s had been.  She would’ve cried out in terror, but her voice was stolen away as she was forced to look into a weathered face half-shadowed by the brim of a hat.

“Ye requested the privilege of parlay?”


	2. Chapter Two

Barbossa surveyed the map before him with the guidance of a thick tallow candle. It was his duty as Captain of the _Black Pearl_ to awake before dawn every morning and chart the ship’s course. They were several days from Tortuga, where they would make port for the first time in nearly two months. His crew was becoming antsy from the long voyage. The men were in need of ale and women, and Barbossa was not so cruel a commander to deny them. Besides, the ship was in desperate need of restocking and repair. He needed his ship, and his crew, in prime condition for the next expedition – to where, the Captain had yet to decide.

A soft murmur, barely audible to the ear, drew Barbossa’s attention away from the map.

The noise had come from the general direction of his bed. There, sprawled delicately across the Captain’s brocade quilt, was the young woman they had taken from the _Mariee De L’eau_. Not that their actions had been unwarranted, she had requested to parlay with the _Pearl’s_ Captain. Though, the poor wretch had fainted clean upon being confronted by all of Barbossa’s grizzled might. By the Pirate Code, they couldn’t leave her aboard the flaming hellscape that was the French vessel; so, Masters Pintel and Ragetti had deposited her safely in his cabin. She had remained asleep since then. Barbossa had watched diligently for fevers or chill, signs that would indicate illness. He didn’t need his crew succumbing to whatever plague she carried. However, she didn’t seem ill, only fatigued. The Captain was more than content to let her sleep.

It was his initial thought that she was a whore; perhaps, the French Captain’s paramour. It was strange practice to bring a woman aboard for the sole purpose of companionship. Women were bad omens on the water, but the French had their eccentricities. Upon further consideration, Barbossa wondered if she were indeed in fact a whore. On the opposite end of his table sat a personal traveling trunk. Ragetti had reported that the trunk belonged to the young woman who had attempted to use it as a weapon before her capture.

The trunk itself was nothing to marvel over. It was almost like a wooden valise with no lock, just two leather buckles that had secured it. What intrigued him were the contents.

Laid out on the long dining table were two gowns wrapped in paper, a set of undergarments, a worn copy of the Holy Bible, a wooden crucifix, a rosary, and a woman’s vanity set. Barbossa had lived a long while and a religious strumpet was not commonplace. What added to the mystery were two sealed letters that he had opened the night before. Candlestick in hand, the pirate abandoned the map to shine the light over the letters. He had endeavored multiple times during the day to read the correspondences, but sadly the bulk of the script was in French.

Spanish, Barbossa could read, even a bit of Italian. French had never found its way into his vocabulary except for the passing phrase.

From what he could tell though, this was an official document, the stamp bearing the insignia of the French founded “Company of the Indies”. There was even a signature from the _Banque Royale_ , or Royal Bank of France. Barbossa had pillaged enough French ships to recognize that these were letter of note. What would a common whore be doing carrying such documents?

He hated to admit it, but curiosity ate away at him. Pacing his quarters, the Captain wandered over to his bed. The faint light of dawn was shining through the dirty glass windows of his quarters, but he kept hold of the candle for better view. An experienced eye swept over the woman lying atop his sheets. Her face was that of a youth, her skin was pale and sallow, and her frame was thin. Her gown was made of rough-spun cotton; very unlike the whores Barbossa was familiar with who decked themselves in cheap silk. The color of the dress was that of a drab sparrow’s wing. Her tangled hair was spread across his pillowcase. In the candlelight it glowed gold.

Perhaps with a little more flesh on her bones, the young woman would be a beauty. She was all sharp angles and boney corners. Barbossa preferred his women a bit heavier, more voluptuous; like most of the girls on Tortuga.

As much as he wanted to believe that she was a common wench, something within the pirate said otherwise. He had learned, after over a half-century of living where he had cheated death countless times, to trust his instinct. What still discomforted Barbossa to this day was the feeling of ignorance. He wanted answers.

Roughly, he grabbed the woman’s foot and shook it to wake her. There was a moment of protest from the sleeping wench. Then, her eyes fluttered opened. The Captain remained still as his guest glanced around the room disoriented before her focus fell on him. At once, the woman bolted up disentangling herself from the bedsheets. Barbossa had her only escape blocked. His bed resided in an alcove; walls surrounded her on all sides. All she could manage was to crawl back until she was pressed up against the opposite wall. Her meager chest was heaving rapidly and Barbossa waited for tears to begin to fall.

“ _Où suis-je_?” she asked. Her voice was tinged with fear. Barbossa wondered if French was all she knew. The only response he could give her was to shake his head.

The young woman gulped, before repeating, “Where am I?”

Barbossa frowned and wondered if her naiveté was all an act. Growling, the man reminded, “Need I remind that ye requested the privilege of parlay aboard the _Mariee De L’eau_. As Captain of this ship, it’s my duty to see to yer request.”

Her hands were clutched against her chest and she watched him like the villain he was. Unsurprisingly, her eyes roamed over him, before settling on his absent leg. An unfortunate incident that had separated Captain from ship a year past had also cost him his leg. Barbossa knew that some men would find such a disfigurement too much to bear. He managed well enough on his peg leg, and he never at a lack for company in the numerous pleasure houses across the Caribbean.

Most importantly, he was still as deadly as ever with a blade. It would take a fool to think him handicapped by his peg leg. He snarled in warning and her gaze immediately fell back to his face, “ _Pardon monsieur_ , you can understand my shock at finding myself in such… _unusual_ …company.”

The woman’s voice was soft and even lacking the callousness one would find in a person of low-birth such as himself. Though accented, her English was passable. All of this chipped away at the theory of her being a woman of the night. Barbossa was tired of skirting the question and asked, “The same could be said for yerself. Now tell me, why would a ‘ _fille de joie’_ be carryin’ letters of note from the French Royal Bank?”

‘ _Fille de joie’_ was a phrase he had heard the Pirate Lord Chevalle use on more than one occasion. Barbossa noticed how the woman flinched at the word. Her sallow cheeks colored a bright pink as her thick brows knitted together in anger. She seemed to want to retort back, a flash of something dangerous in her eyes. That was the spirit he was seeking, he waited for the wench to launch into a tirade. She corrected herself, however, the spirit sputtering out as quickly as it had enflamed.

“Firstly, monsieur, I am not a _fille de joie_. I am a guest of Captaine Honoré Lavigne, servant of the Company of the Indies. Our destination was Saint-Domingue, then the colony of New Orleans before our ship was attacked.”

She managed a nasty look at him, but continued in an even manner, “Secondly, I request to be taken immediately to Captaine Lavigne and the crew of the _Mariee De L’eau_. It is inappropriate that I remain here.”

A frown tugged at his lips.

“Such terms I cannot fulfill. Ye were the only survivor we pulled from the _Mariee_.”

Her almond eyes widened at the news, but still she remained impassive. He had to give a hand to her strength. Not many women, especially those of her age, would remain so calm. One woman with such bravery stood out in his mind, but Elizabeth Turner was a very rare breed. By now, most lasses would be at his feet begging mercy, or throwing their bodies at him as leverage. Barbossa preferred to deal with the latter rather than the former.

“Captaine Lavigne…Sister Therese…the crew?” Her voice died off before she could continue.

“What is to happen to me?”

The pirate thought it a good question, “Well, _mademoiselle_ , that has yet to be determined. Ye are still under the privy of parlay.”

The woman seemed to weigh her options. After a heavy pause, she stated, “You can guarantee my safety until I can secure passage to New Orleans?”

Barbossa considered the proposal. It was simple, malleable, the sort of deal he liked. The Pirate Code was more a guideline if anything. If safety to her meant keeping her from the wandering hands of his crew, this he could satisfy. Whatever more she meant by safety, he would broach on a by-term basis. Barbossa wasn’t about to go risking his neck for a mere slip of a woman. Without further delay, the Captain shook his head in agreement and extended his hand to her. The woman pursed her lips giving his hand a hard stare. Finally, she reached out and shook; sealing their agreement. He was expecting her hand to be delicate, but was surprised to feel a rough palm with thin scars marring her fingers. Her hand felt somewhat like his own.

So, this wench had experienced hardship.

Barbossa let his hand linger around hers. Staring back at the woman, he was overcome with a sudden wave of lust, a warmth pulling at his belly. It had been too long since he had been in the company of a woman. He finally let go when the girl tugged her hand away, tucking it back neatly in her lap. A wry smile crept onto his face.

The sooner they reached Tortuga, the better.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:
> 
> My French is limited, I'm passable, but grammar is not my forte. Please correct any errors that are evident.
> 
> Also, I moved to New Orleans in August and I fell in love with the history. I stumbled upon a walking tour discussing the origins of 'casquette', or casket girls - girls sent from convents and nunneries in France to become wives of French settlers. Want to learn more, this handy Wiki article gives a brief synopsis.


End file.
